‘The police wouldn’t tell me much, but from the questions they asked, it must have been Monday night,’ says Mary. ‘They wanted to know my movements.’ She walks over to the window, opens it, flicks ash out. The cows are still moaning in the fields, as if they’re in pain. Forty-eight hours ago, Gemma was alive. ‘Why did the police speak to you?’ Mary tucks her hair behind her ears. It springs back, like dark thunderclouds enveloping her thin face. ‘I didn’t believe Charlotte Zailer when she told me you were Aidan’s girlfriend. I thought, no. Can’t be. When I had it confirmed by First Call, my heart nearly stopped. Once I’d got myself together, I drove to Aidan’s workshop, waited outside in my car. A bit later, Zailer turned up with another cop I recognised—DC Waterhouse. He’d been round to see me on Saturday, also about Aidan. The two of them went inside.’ ‘I was there,’ I tell her. ‘They stayed for a while, then left, except Waterhouse didn’t go far.
